


And The Livin’ is Easy

by Nendian



Category: Captain America
Genre: Accidental Molotov Cocktail, Domestic Fluff, Food Horror, Lingerie, Multi, Soft Bucky Barnes, Steve Cooks, no baby ducklings were harmed in the writing of this fic, wwthreesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nendian/pseuds/Nendian
Summary: Bucky survives the fall. Steve and Peggy have a new mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh!
> 
> What even! 
> 
> I wrote this in a flight of fancy and Quietnight relentlessly bullied/ bribed me into posting it SO HERE YOU GO.
> 
> FLY FREE LITTLE FICLET WHAT AM I DOING AAAUUGH.

Bucky cinched the knot of the robe, reveling in the feel of silk on his skin. It was probably the most expensive thing he had ever laid his hands on that wasn’t property of the US Government. A floor length black silk satin robe with feather trim so soft it must have come from  
baby ducklings or something equally obscene.  
They could have things like this now, since the war was over and rationing was a thing of the past. He took a moment to marvel that they had all actually made it through the war more or less in one piece.

Well, Steve and Peggy had made it out in one piece. He’d gone and gotten himself blown out the side of a moving train “like a damn fool” (Carter’s words). He winces at the memory. The otherworldly blue light, the impact that took his breath away, catching the railing in a stroke of pure luck. 

Then Steve. Always Steve. Reaching out to him but not quite close enough to catch him when the railing gave way. He still has nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat with Steve’s panicked face in his mind and his own screams in his ears.

He’d gotten pinned halfway down the ravine, caught between two jutting rocks by his left arm. He’d laid there for two days, had completely given up hope and resigned himself to freezing to death out there in the ice. He’s still not sure how he didn’t. But he didn’t. 

And then there was Steve. Again. 

How the tables had turned. Now it was Steve pulling him out of shit situations at the eleventh hour.

The docs had said if he’d been out there for a few more hours he’d have lost the arm completely, but as it is he’s just stuck with a bum limb. Not much mobility and not much feeling in his fingertips. He’ll never be behind the scope of a rifle again, but he finds he doesn’t mind much now, even though it rankled at the time; not being able to follow Steve into the fray anymore.

Something about the experience had left him changed, and left Steve changed. And even Peg, too. 

Some days he felt like some 5th Avenue ladies’ prize poodle. Once the war ended and they all came home it was like their new mission was to spoil him rotten.

Hence this ridiculously exquisite robe.

Peggy’d had it made specially for him, by some discreet tailor in California where she split her time for SHIELD. It had arrived on his and Steve’s doorstep in a nicely wrapped package with a note that read simply “Looking forward to a quiet evening in next Saturday dears. With all my love, MC.”

Now, having once seen Peg single handedly commandeer a tank and demolish half a hydra base by herself, Bucky knew exactly what Peggy’s definition of quiet was.

Steve had been walking around with a dopey grin on his face ever since.


	2. My Sugar is so Refined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky try to be good housewives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all the people who have been holding my hand through this “process” called “writing”. Especially silentwalrus for basically doing all of the punctuation, magdaliny and jhsc for cheerleading me relentlessly, and most of all aggressivewhenstartled for telling me where the add chapter button is.

Bucky turned side to side in front of the mirror, admiring the way the fabric shifted around him. He wondered what else Peggy might have planned for him - that particular shade of red lipstick that Steve liked so much, or maybe a little something around the eyes.

“You’re needed on set, Ms. Hayworth,” Steve said from where he was leaning in the doorway.

Bucky hummed, speaking to Steve’s reflection in the mirror. “I was thinking more Mae West, myself.” He gave into whimsy and twirled around, making the hem flutter up attractively around him. When he came to a stop there was a warm smile on Steve’s face.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked.

Steve strolled over. “I think we’re a couple of lucky housewives, to be so well taken care of.” He punctuated it with a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “C’mon. I need your help with something.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked as they made their way down the hall. 

“Are you going to wear that thing all day?” Steve replied, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow and not answering the question.

“Of course I am. You’re just jealous she didn’t get one for you.”

It wasn’t until they were just outside the kitchen that it occurred to Bucky that he should be worried.

“Steve,” he said. “What have you been up to all day?”

“Oh,” Steve replied cheerily, “I thought if we were playing home-maker we might as well make a run at authenticity. I made dinner for tonight!”

“You...cooked,” Bucky replied, trying to mask the dread he was feeling and failing miserably.

If Steve noticed he gave no indication. “Yep,” He said.

“What did you make?” Bucky asked, even though he really should have been asking why.

“Fish Glace,” Steve said proudly, nodding towards the refrigerator. “It’s an aspic!” Bucky frowned. He opened the door and peered inside.

“Edie from next door gave me the recipe, she said it’s her husband’s favorite. She even lent me the mold!”

A monstrosity greeted Bucky from the middle shelf. A jellied fish with martini olives for eyes stared at him balefully, it’s body filled with - with - 

“What’s all that stuff inside it?”

“Oh. Hm.” Steve looked down at a book on the counter. “Tomatoes, cucumber, peppers and canned tuna.”

Bucky had an unfortunate staring contest with the thing. Which he lost, because olives can’t blink.

“That’s real... great, Steve.” He shut the door of the fridge.

“I figured if I could save the world, following a recipe shouldn’t be too hard.”

Bucky looked at him incredulously. “Steve, your entire life story could be summed up as ‘Steve Rogers: The Man Who Never Followed A Direction’.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Please. AlI I had to do was boil the gelatin and toss everything in the mold.”

Bucky decided to let that one go. “You said you needed my help with something?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said “I know Peg has been feeling a little homesick lately, so I thought we could pick up some gin for her tonight. I think there are some shops in the city that have the imported stuff.”

“No, no, no.” Bucky shook his head. “If we need gin we’ll just go over to my Aunt Matilda’s for it, she’s been making it in her basement since the 20’s.”

“I don’t know about that, Buck” Steve said doubtfully.

“C’mon Stevie, it’s way better than the store bought stuff, and-” he added “it's free for anyone in the family.”

Steve winced at him.

“A housewife is always economical.” Bucky said sweetly.

Steve grunted “Fine, but you have to go pick it up on your own.”

Bucky pouted and then sighed heavily, “Shit, that means I have to get dressed.”


	3. It’s De-Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy gets home. Dinner gets served.

 

 

Peggy got home Saturday evening, a little bit before sunset. The sun painted everything golden yellow, slanting sideways through the trees and into the windows of their little sanctuary.  Bucky had made sure he and Steve were both presentable, since there was no way in hell he was letting the mistake fish get anywhere near his new robe.

 

So there they were, dressed to the nines, Bucky in a deep blue plaid suit that accented Steve’s eyes and Steve in a refined grey wool that brought out the tones in Bucky’s eyes. Peg wouldn't stand a chance.

 

She walked in the front door looking wearied, but the moment she laid eyes on them something soft and warm graced her features. _Job_ _well_ _done_ , _Barnes_ , Bucky thought to himself.

 

“Hello darlings,” Peggy said, giving them each a peck on the cheek. She sat on the bench by the front door to kick off her heels, which Bucky took to the hall closet while Steve carried her bags upstairs to the bedroom. Peggy took the hairpins out of her hair to let it fall down around her shoulders, and Bucky took those too and stuck them in his vest pocket as Steve made his way back to them.

 

Peggy stood up and Steve offered her his left arm; Bucky offered his right. They escorted her into the front parlor, only getting a little stuck going through the door.

 

Steve excused himself to go finish setting the table while Bucky delivered Peggy to her favorite chair and went to the bar. He took out one of the unmarked bottles of Aunt Matilda’s homemade gin, some vermouth, and the martini olives so that he could use them as God had intended.

 

“For the lady,” Bucky said, handing Peggy the drink, “dirty, with two olives.” He added with a wink.

 

“Oh James, really, you boys are spoiling me.” Peggy smiled as she took the glass from him.

 

Bucky loved Steve, but he also loved Peggy and so leaned in close to whisper, “Trust me, you’ll want to have a few sips of that in you before dinner.”

 

“Oh dear,” Peggy said. “Dare I ask what we’re having?”

 

Bucky looked into the middle distance, a weight in his gut like he used to feel before battle. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.” He looked back to her. “But he did cook it all himself.”

 

Peggy swallowed and cleared her throat. “Ah. I understand, Sergeant.”

 

Bucky went to the bar and picked up a bottle to pour a drink for himself when his left arm twisted just wrong, the way it did occasionally, muscles cramping and bones aching with old memories. The bottle slipped from his hand, spilling on his shirt sleeve. “Shit,” he cursed, and went to bathroom for a hand towel.

 

“Everything alright?” Peggy called after him.

 

“Yeah, Peg! Just a little spill, gonna get a towel,” he said, stepping into the powder room. He pressed a towel to his sleeve and flexed his fingers, trying to loosen the tension taking hold on his left side.

 

After a few moments of deep breaths and blotting his sleeve with the hand towel he felt well enough to head back out and clean up the rest of the spill. He walked back out just in time to see Steve oh so gallantly lighting a cigarette for Peggy. A cigarette that was right over the drink Peggy held in her hand.

 

“Steve! Wai-“

 

A small fireball erupted, briefly lighting up the parlor. Peggy sat with half a cigarette in her mouth, both her and Steve’s faces smudged with soot. One of Steve’s eyebrows was missing.

 

“Aw geez, sorry Peg - the fumes,” Bucky said, walking over with the hand towel and wiping the ash from her forehead. “Aunt Matilda makes a good batch of hooch but it’s real strong stuff. They learned that the hard way and lost a bathroom once.”

 

She took the half cigarette out of her mouth and handed it to Steve. “Hmm,” she said, looking at the martini thoughtfully. She sniffed it, then took a small sip. “Hmm,” she said again. “You know, this might be useful. Is your aunt looking for an investor?”

 

“Uh, I’d have to ask.” Bucky answered, dwelling for a moment on what kind of property damage could result if Aunt Matilda and Peg teamed up. Auntie hadn’t seen the lifting of Prohibition as any reason to stop making extremely illegal spirits in her cellar, which outweighed the negatives in that it brought in decent money and most importantly gave her something safe to do. Well. Relatively.

 

Steve, seemingly thinking the same thing, tucked the cigarette stub into an ashtray and suggested maybe it was time to head for the dining room.

 

...

 

Steve had laid his crimes against both man and food on the dining room table, surrounded by their finest flatware. Bucky loved Steve, dearly, even, but Jesus Christ, it looked like a satanic cult’s community theatre production of The Man Who Came to Dinner.  Bucky was sure the fish was making eye contact with him again. He didn’t engage with it because he learned from his mistakes, unlike some residents of this household.

 

“Oh.” Peggy stared at it for a few moments, an unidentifiable emotion on her face. “What... is it?”

 

And Steve, the earnest fuck, cleared his throat. Bucky hadn’t seen him this nervous about anything since 1934. “Fish Glace.” He paused. “Edie from next door says these are the next big thing in home cooking.”

 

Bucky thought something unfortunate might happen to next-door Edie sometime in the near future.

 

Then, Peggy took a deep breath and straightened. Bucky recognized what he called her mission face. “You Americans and your gelatin,” she said fondly, sounding not at all horrified or repulsed. Bucky was in awe. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

 

And that was the thing wasn’t it? They both knew this was probably a mistake, but at the same time it was Steve’s mistake and he had made it just for them. So here they were, about to follow Steve into the jaws of culinary hell because he loved them, and they loved him.

 

Bucky and Peggy sat at the table, and Steve got to carving up the aspic like some kind of demented Rockwell family holiday tableau. Bucky somehow ended up with the fish head, but he made sure to turn his plate so it could look its creator in the eye while it got devoured. He took a steadying gulp from his drink, unable to shake the feeling of ‘unholy ritual’.

 

Steve sat down and looked at them expectantly. Bucky spent a moment regretting that he clearly had been leaving Steve to his own devices too much.

 

They all took a bite. Peggy hmmed appreciatively, her shoulders up around her ears. Bucky tried to mentally disconnect himself from his face.

 

And then -

 

“Oh my god,” Steve said, frozen mid-first-chew. “This is _awful_.”

 

Peggy visibly relaxed, muttered “Oh thank God,” and daintily spit the bite into her napkin. Bucky got up, walked to window and spat it into the bushes, because that level of theatrics seemed appropriate. He took another deep swig of gin, gargled it and then spat that out the window too.

 

He cracked up again at the stricken look on Steve’s face as he slowly chewed and then swallowed. “Jesus Christ, Stevie! What on earth possessed you?”

 

“I just...” Steve looked down. “I’ve been so antsy lately. I needed to do something or I was gonna bust right outta my own skin.” Steve sighed deeply. “I thought this might occupy me for a bit, and at least let me do something nice for the two of you.”

 

Peggy cupped Steve’s cheek with her hand. “There’s our Steve. Always so dramatic.”

 

“You might want to try painting,” Bucky chimed in. “I hear it’s a great hobby.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Buck.”

 

“You know, if you've been feeling the need for some activity,” Peggy interjected, “there’s a case in Los Angeles that I’m working that could use your talents. If you’re interested?”

 

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “Yeah. Maybe it would be good to get back into the field.” He pursed his lips. “As long as you wouldn’t mind, Buck. It’d leave you on your own for a bit.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Me? Nah, I’ll be fine, pal. I’ll go visit Ma and the girls, they’ve been bugging me to get out there for awhile.”

 

“Right then, that’s settled,” Peggy said as she stood up. “Now we just have to figure out what we’re going to eat. I’m famished.”

 

“Well,” Steve started uncertainly. “I did make another one, but it was supposed to be for dessert. It probably tastes better though! I mean, there’s no canned tuna in it, so…” he trailed off with a lopsided grin and a shrug.

 

Now, Bucky was a man who had learned the hard way to appreciate a second chance when it was presented to you. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked up on his toes “Sounds great, Steve. Lead the way.”

 

So they ended up in the kitchen, picking at a jiggly fruit filled dessert, not even bothering with plates. Peggy and Bucky sat on the counters, while Steve leaned on the table across from them, and yeah, it did taste a lot better this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Man Who Came to Dinner is a campy romantic farce from the 40s.
> 
> SO MANY THANKS to silent walrus again for betaing and also to all of you, dear readers. There are so many amazing writers in this fandom, compared to which I am but a monkey banging on a keyboard. The fact that some of you enjoy my little romp tickles my cold dead heart.


	4. Autumn in New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a nightmare, he and Peggy have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been calling this the Sad Interlude. It came out of a (misbegotten!) desire to try to write some feelings and also to figure out Bucky’s motivation for being the way he is in this story.
> 
> A million thanks to Quietnight for being a fantastic beta! And another million thanks for all of you who read and kudos and comment. 
> 
> Fear not dear readers, the next chapter goes back to absolute bonkers farce again.

He’s cold.

 

And, he’s dead.

 

Well, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

 

He comes to at what looks like halfway down the ravine. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he-

 

since he fell.

 

At first he tries yelling for help. Surely Steve is looking for him. The wind whips and howls his cries away. He gives up.

 

He’s wedged into a crevice in the cliff face caught in place by his left arm. His shoulder burns, probably dislocated. He can’t feel his fingers. He could probably saw it off with a knife if he had to, but where would he go? Can’t climb back up with only one arm, Barnes.

 

He’s so cold. Achingly cold. He’s getting cramps from shivering so hard. 

 

He has to face the facts. He’s not getting out this time. He’s given up before. In that lab. On that table. And then Steve pulled him out like a real Hail Mary. 

 

But-

 

That’s a once in a lifetime deal isn’t it? This time his goose is well and truly cooked. God, he’d let someone cook him if it meant he could be warm again. He starts laughing at his own morbid little joke. And then he starts crying. He doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want to leave Steve, or his Ma, or his sisters. There’s so, so much he wanted to do.

 

He wakes up. There are tears on his face.

 

He’s in bed, next to Steve. Peggy got home last night. The war is long over. He made it out.

 

Steve has curled up around Peggy and taken all the blankets with him, and the window at Bucky’s back is open just enough to let in the beginnings of an October chill.

 

He shivers. His left arm aches, the way it always does when a cold snap is about to hit. It’s like he can feel all the places where the bone crumpled, where sinews tore and the ice crept in. The feeling of despair leftover from the dream sits in his chest like an open wound.

 

He rolls over and runs a hand over his face. He’s not getting back to sleep tonight. He gets up and slips into some soft pajama pants, and then quietly slides the window shut. He stares at the robe draped carefully on the door, looking like a soft edged shadow in the dim moonlight. Even in the dark the fabric is still satin shiny, a symbol in silk of just how much his life has changed.

 

He used to be the neighborhood tough.  Had to be, if he was going to keep pulling Stevie out of every fight he started and couldn’t finish. But Steve doesn’t need someone to finish his fights anymore. And ever since coming back from the war, ever since coming back from the cold. Well, who cares if he just wants be wrapped up in something soft and warm. If he wants to let someone else take care of him for a change.

 

He slides the robe and some slippers on and heads downstairs. The clock in the foyer says it’s almost 4:30 so he didn’t do that bad for a night’s sleep, all things considered. He drifts into the kitchen and gets the percolator started, because he might as well get the day going with some caffeine, then sits at the little wooden table in the dining nook. 

 

He massages the palm of his left hand, focusing in on the difference in feeling between right and left. From his right hand the sensations come in clear and quick. He can feel the calluses and creases on his palm, the faint thrum of a pulse under his thumb. From the left hand everything is dulled, as if he’s feeling the world through a thick layer of wool.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

 

He turns to see Peggy leaning against the doorframe, covered up in her sturdy and practical quilted dressing gown.

 

Bucky chuffs a laugh. “Did Steve send you?”

 

“I’m his wife not his secretary, darling. I told him to go back to sleep and let me take care of it.” She joins him at the table and adds, “And then I tied him to the bed frame to make sure he stayed put.”

 

That one gets a real laugh out of him, even if it has a bit of an edge to it that’s not quite cheerful.

 

They sit across from each other at the table. She takes a breath and wraps her hands around his and looks him in the eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

 

He looks down and sighs. The short answer is no. He doesn’t want to bring all the ugly things in his head into their clean, modern little kitchen. He’s not even sure he has the words to express it.

 

He clears his throat and gets up from the table, “Coffee first, doll. Let me make it up to you for waking you up this early. I thought I was quiet enough,” he gives her an apologetic grimace, “but I guess not, huh?”

 

Peggy props her chin onto one fist and says “Don’t flatter yourself, James, I’m still running on Pacific time. It’s almost eight by my clock.”

 

“Oh! My mistake madame!” He apologizes dramatically and she wrinkles her nose at him.

 

He turns and busies himself with getting the settings out. The bone china cups and saucers, a wedding gift from some relative of Peggy’s. Cream and sugar in their little matching containers, and a spoon for the sugar. He pours a cup for each of them and lays everything out on the table between them. 

 

Peggy gives him a quiet thanks. He watches as she stirs in her cream and sugar. They both take a steadying sip of not quite painfully hot coffee.

 

“It’s like-“ he starts, and grimaces as he searches for the right words. “It’s like you think you get used to it, you know? When you’ve lost something. And then you get almost lulled into this false sense of security. And the next time you get reminded of it it’s like it’s happening fresh all over again.” He sighs in frustration, “I’m not saying this very well.”

 

Peggy lays her spoon down on the saucer and says “No, I think I understand. We all lost things in the war, though not in quite the same way as you perhaps, and it hits you harder some days than others.”

 

Bucky rubs his bad arm absently. “It’s the cold that sets it off,” his voice has an embarrassing quiver already. “That chill hits the air and I start dreamin’ about that mountain, the train, about the time I spent out there.” His next breath shudders.

 

“It’s never getting better, Peg. This is just the way I am now- and I know that- but sometimes I just want, I just want it to go away. I want to be able to  _ do  _ things again. I’m so..so limited now, I can’t even mix a goddamn drink without risking dropping the bottle for chrissakes.” He covers his face with his hands, overwhelmed, “Sorry, Peg, I don’t mean to put this all on you. I’m grateful for what I do have, really. For what you two…” he trails off.

 

Peggy hums sympathetically, “James, you’re allowed to mourn. The man you used to be is gone, but you are still here.  And for what it’s worth I’m very glad you’re here.” She pauses and looks out the window, “If we hadn’t found you, or hadn’t found you in time, I’m not sure that Steve would have-“ She stops abruptly and clears her throat. “Well. It doesn’t do to deal in suppositions. We’re all three of us here, together, and that’s what matters.”

 

Bucky smiles. God he loves her, “Thanks, Peggy. And I really do appreciate the life you two have set up for me.” He takes another sip of coffee, it’s important that he says this out loud no matter that it’s hard, “After the war, after seein’ all the terrible things men can do to each other up close, I don’t wanna do that anymore. I  _ like _ the domestic life. But I also admire that you and Steve still got a lotta fight left in you, too. I’m glad that you’re keeping watch, there isn’t anyone I’d trust more to do it.”

 

She actually giggles at him, blushing. “I say Barnes you really do know how to charm a girl.” Bucky gives her his best roguish grin and she laughs again. They sit in easy silence for a bit.

 

“You know,” Peggy starts, “if it’s the weather that’s bothering you, you could always come with us.”

 

Bucky looks up from his coffee. “To California?” He considers it. She’s doing that thing that she and Steve do, plotting the options, offering solutions. Strategists the both of them. She can’t change his history but she can remove him from the cause of his current neuroses.

 

“Howard tells me October is quite warm there, and there’s a pool at his house,” she continues innocently.

 

He raises his eyebrows at her.

 

“... and I may have ordered another little gift for you to wear by said pool.”

 

Bucky cracks. “Doll, stop trying to twist my arm, it’s not that flexible anymore.”

 

Her smile is all teeth and she lifts her cup. “Cheers.”

 

They toast and down the rest of the coffee.

 

“Now, let's go see what we can do to Steve before he gets himself out of the knots I tied.”

 

Bucky almost snorts coffee out his nose. “Wait! Did you actually tie him up? I thought you were just kidding!”

 

She gets up from the table and winks at him. “Only one way to find out.”

 

He laughs and follows her up the stairs. 


End file.
